"Yes--" The word starts as breath, and a flicker changes it. "--no." Sweeney presses his eyes shut as he tries to focus with his blood racing downward.

He leans his head up to press the words hotly into her ear. "Tarraing mo choileach." He roughly nuzzles his cheek against hers.

"Suck my prick," he growls in hunger without the essence of command. His fingers dig in her hip before shoving down, but the hand in her hair makes no such demands. As much as he's able, he wants it to be a request, not an order.